PREVIOUSLY

“What does your fortune say?” asked the guard, and Todd stretched it out so he could read. Suddenly his head snapped back in laughter.

“Somebody has a really sick sense of humor,” he gasped. “’Each obstacle on your path is becoming the gateway to a new life’. Oh, yeah, that’s rich!”

*************************************************************************************************************

By the Friday following the hypnosis session, Todd was starting to feel a little better. Starr’s guileless chatter about swimming lessons and day camp during her weekly visit had improved his mood considerably. His dinner date with Téa had been a mostly positive experience. She had tried to get him released from prison, and knowing that she was no longer on a vendetta to see him punished was like a balm to his wounded spirit, even though she had failed. But any feelings for Téa were now tinged with fear for her safety. The look in John Sykes’ eyes when he had burst into her office to interrupt their dinner was too much like the one in Peter Manning’s when he had discovered Michelle with the birthday cake. His first sweetheart had died trying to do something nice for him, and with grim determination, Todd vowed that he would not let the same thing happen to Téa.

The late June heat had penetrated his cell, and the afternoon found him stripped to a T-shirt and rolled up denim pants as he sat reading magazines on his bunk. He looked up as the door to the cellblock slid open, filled with hope that Téa might have found a little time to come by and see him. His face hardened into a scowl as Detective Sykes stepped up to the bars and glared at him with his clear, protruding eyes. Bill Doyle hovered uncertainly at his side as Sykes said, “Time for you to learn a little lesson, Manning.”

Painfully aware of his vulnerable position as a prisoner, Todd tried to look unconcerned. “What do you want, Sykes?” he asked in a bored tone. His heart had started to thud against his ribcage.

“I want you to get what you have coming to you, Manning,” said Sykes with a cold grin. “You’ve been coddled enough. Now step over here and put your hands through the bars.” He banged his palm on one of the crossbars. Doyle looked at him questioningly.

“Why should I do that? I’m quite comfortable here,” said Todd, faking a yawn.

“Because I ordered it, Manning, and I’m quite content to write you up for disobedience if you refuse. That should be good for a few extra weeks on your sentence. Now do as I ask or I’ll call for some back up and we can do it the hard way.” Todd stared at him a few moments longer, then taking his time about it, he climbed to his bare feet. He shuffled over until he was just opposite the menacing detective. Sykes again patted the spot where he wanted Todd to put his hands, and ever so slowly, he complied. “Your handcuffs please, Officer,” he said, holding his hand out toward Doyle.

“Sir, what are you going to do?” asked the guard, getting concerned. “This is not standard procedure.” Sykes looked at him with an icy stare.

“This is my procedure, Officer,” he hissed. “I’m going to search his cell for contraband, and I need him secured. Now hand over the cuffs.”

“I could move him to an empty cell.” Sykes shook his head, and after a few seconds hesitation, Doyle reluctantly gave him the restraints. Sykes quickly snapped them on Todd’s wrists, slipping them around a bar to secure his hands at eye level. Todd didn’t change expression as he was chained, continuing to look positively bored.

“Thank you, Officer,” said Sykes heartily, grabbing the wary cop and steering him toward the exit to the cellblock. “That will be all. I’ll take your keys and let myself out when I’m ready. You can go get yourself a cup of coffee and take a well deserved break.”

“Detective, I don’t think…”

“You know, Doyle, I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately,” said Sykes in his oily voice. “As head of detectives, I’m always looking for officers with that certain something it takes to move up in the department. I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before I’ll be giving you a call.” The policeman stared at him, dumbfounded. “Now why don’t you go take a little walk. I’ll come find you when I’m finished…Detective Doyle.” Sykes gave him a knowing smile. Todd turned his head away as his guard handed over the keys, unwilling to watch while someone he had almost come to consider a friend sold him out. After Doyle had left and Sykes had locked the gate to the cellblock, he moved back in front of Todd, looking like the cat that swallowed the canary. Reaching into his breast pocket, he slowly extracted a telescoping baton. With a flick of his wrist, it extended to its full length, revealing a wicked-looking weapon. “Now Todd,” said Sykes in a cheerful tone, “we’re going to learn why you should stay away from a certain Assistant District Attorney in the future.”

“What’s the matter, Syko?” taunted Todd as the detective moved around the corner and unlocked his cell. “Is Delgado paying too much attention to her poor convict ex-husband and neglecting little Johnny-boy?” Although he was defiant on the outside, inside Todd was fighting down panic as he realized the danger he was in. Sykes entered the cell and came up next to his victim, leaning casually against the bars. Todd stared straight ahead, unnerved by the calm, unwavering gaze of his tormentor. Suddenly, without warning, Sykes grabbed the back of his head and smashed his face into the bars viciously. Todd pulled back, his lip cut and his nose beginning to stream blood. The baton was jammed up under his chin, angling his head back painfully. The detective put his mouth up next to his ear.

“Now listen up, Manning. Téa is way too good for you,” he hissed angrily. “I’m going to see that you get extra time—a lot of it. And in the process I’m going to make sure that your lovely ex-wife knows that you are still a lying faker. We’ll see if she feels sorry for you after that.” He pulled the baton free, leaving Todd gasping for air. “Look what I just found during my search of your cell,” he said, pulling a homemade knife out of his pocket. He held up a shank made with a shard of broken glass taped to a pair of popsicle sticks. “An illegal weapon! Tsk tsk. This certainly shows your true violent nature, Manning. I don’t think ADA Delgado will be quite so sympathetic now.”

Todd turned his head, glaring at the detective in pure hatred. “What a big man you are Sykes,” he said sarcastically. “You only take me on when you have me chained and helpless. C’mon, Detective, too scared to make it a fair fight?” Sykes walked away a few steps, then whipped around, striking Todd viciously across the back with the baton. The prisoner sucked in a pained gasp of air, holding himself upright by clinging to the crossbars with his fingertips. He leaned against the bars panting, but before he had time to recover, the sadistic detective dealt him another blow across the shoulders. Suddenly, Todd’s world dissolved into nothing but pain as Sykes lost control and beat him again and again with the deadly baton. His torture was prolonged by his tormentor’s frustration as he refused to utter a sound. Sykes redoubled his efforts, striking him repeatedly across the back and ribcage. Finally, as the prisoner’s legs began to buckle, the beating ended. Todd gripped the bars, struggling for breath, his face pressed against his arm. After a minute, he slowly opened his eyes and focused on the evil grin of the man standing over him. “You are a dead man,” he said in a choked voice.

Sykes broke out in a high-pitched girlish giggle. “I think you’ve got us confused, Manning. You’re the one unlikely to make old bones, and you’re in no position to be making threats, I might add.”

“You’d be surprised at what I can survive, Sykes.” He made an effort to control his ragged breathing. “Delgado may be too good for me, but she is so far above you she can skewer your bald head with her spike heels. You will never touch her, do you hear me?”

“Obviously you still haven’t learned your lesson. I see I will have to resort to clearer means of making my point.” He held the baton in front of his face, looking at it with delight, and stepped closer to the prisoner. “I don’t think you’ll be forgetting this little bout of discipline any time soon, Manning,” he hissed. Todd stiffened as he felt the baton slowly sliding down his back and over his buttocks. To his horror, it lingered there. “Time for the rapist to get a taste of his own medicine,” murmured Sykes malevolently, and Todd felt his blood run cold. His eyes widened in rage and terror as he felt the other man’s hand begin to unbutton his fly. With an animal-like howl, Todd turned to the side and brought his knee up viciously between the detective’s legs, catching him off-guard and defenseless. With his eyes bugging out of his head, Sykes dropped the baton, clutched his groin and sank slowly to his knees. Todd followed up with a powerful kick to his head, sending him sprawling. In a complete panic, the prisoner yanked futilely at the chains binding him. From deep within his throat, he hawked up a wad of bloodstained mucus and spit, hitting the prone detective directly in the face. Stunned, but not unconscious, Sykes reached up and wiped away the spittle. When he opened his eyes, Todd could see the fires of hell burning there.

“You will have to kill me first,” growled Todd in a dangerously low tone of voice. Sykes jumped to his feet, grabbing the baton. One look at his face as he approached, and Todd knew his life was over.

“It will be my pleasure,” Sykes cried, and gripping the narrow end of the baton like a baseball bat, he drew back his arms and aimed directly for his captive’s head.

“I’m going to die just like Michelle,” thought Todd in the brief seconds left to him. Fragmented images of Starr, Téa, Sam, Viki, and even Blair flashed through his mind. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the blow.

“Sykes!” shouted Bo through the barred gate a split second before the enraged detective could follow through. “John, you don’t want to do this,” said the commissioner shaken by the scene he had just witnessed. He quickly let himself into the cellblock with a second set of keys. Sykes stared at him like a crazy man, then slowly lowered the baton. Todd didn’t move as Bo rushed around the corner and into the cell.

“I suppose your little lackey Doyle went tattling to you,” said Sykes contemptuously.

“I haven’t seen Doyle,” lied Bo. “I was wondering why he wasn’t at his post.” Since the detective seemed appeased for the moment, he continued, “What are you doing John?” Sykes showed him the shank and smiled triumphantly.

“I conducted a search of the prisoner’s cell and found this.” Bo quickly took it from him, then narrowed his eyes. He stepped close, looking up at the taller man.

“Listen, John. I know very well that this weapon doesn’t belong to Manning. He’s not in for a long stretch. He has too much to lose by a stunt like this. You, however, have everything to gain, particularly a certain beautiful ADA.” He looked over his shoulder at the bound man clinging desperately to the bars. “I don’t want to hear anything more about this shank, and I never want to see you anywhere near Manning again. Are we clear? If so, you can get out now.” Sykes looked at him coldly, rage slowly building inside him. He briefly considered snatching the shank and jamming it into the commissioner’s throat, laying the blame on the prisoner. He quickly discounted that idea. Too much could go wrong. Besides, it was Manning he wanted dead, not Bo. Slowly, he turned and left the cell, glaring at both men he left behind.

“You’ll regret this, Bo,” he threatened as he went through the unlocked gate to the cellblock. As soon as he was gone, Bo rushed over to Todd and quickly released one of his wrists from the handcuffs binding him to the bars. A few seconds later, Officer Doyle ran in carrying a first aid kit, and together the two men slowly lowered the prisoner to the floor.

“How bad is it?” asked Doyle, almost frantic with concern. Todd lay on his back with his eyes closed, breathing painfully.

“He got him pretty good, I’m afraid. Good thing you came to me as quickly as you did. Did he see you on the way out?” Doyle shook his head. “Good. He’s vindictive, Doyle. You don’t want him to know you blew the whistle.” He looked down at the injured man. “Let’s check him out.” As he reached out a hand to touch him, Todd’s eyes flew open.

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed in a dangerous tone of voice. Dragging the handcuffs, which were still attached to one wrist, he reached up and buttoned his fly closed, staring menacingly at the commissioner.

“Manning, we need to see how badly you’re injured.” Todd just stared at him. “OK, at least let Doyle look,” said Bo. Ever so slowly, the beaten man rolled to his side, grimacing in pain. Doyle gingerly pushed up his T-shirt and winced as he saw the grid of bruises covering Todd’s back. Bo looked at the injuries and cursed the powerful Washington connections that prevented him from firing a man he now knew to be as dangerous as any criminal on the streets. The next minutes were taken up with a perfunctory physical exam, during which it was determined that Todd had no broken ribs or bones. He was badly bruised, but there were no life threatening wounds. Carefully, the two men helped him sit up.

“I…I want to press assault charges against that psycho,” said Todd through gritted teeth.

Bo sighed deeply, hating what he was about to do. “That’s your prerogative, Manning, but you might want to think about that a bit.” He had the prisoner’s attention. “You see, he is the head of detectives and you are a convict. There are no witnesses to what occurred here. In a court of law, it’s your word against his.” Todd glared at him, making his disgust known. “We’d have to put up with a lot of outside investigators and the department would get some very negative publicity. The other cops might get resentful and take it out of your hide, Manning.”

“So I am the only one in this town who is denied justice?” asked Todd bitterly. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what you want, Bo. I’m going to see him pay.”

“On the other hand,” went on Bo, ignoring him, “a prisoner who over-looked a little, shall we say unpleasantness? Well, he might expect to see some improvements in his living arrangements. Say, more frequent visits with his daughter, liberal phone calls, occasional meals brought in from the outside. Do you understand what I’m saying, Manning?”

“I don’t know, Bo, you’re so subtle,” spat Todd, grimacing. Suddenly, he started up, his eyes opening wide. “Delgado! I don’t want that guy anywhere near her. I’ve got to…” He struggled to stand up, but the pain was too much for him and he settled back onto the floor, shaking and resting his eyes on his knees.

“Take it easy,” said Bo, gesturing for Doyle to release Todd from the handcuffs that were still dangling from one wrist. “Sykes isn’t going to hurt Téa,” he said in soothing tones, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded. He bit his lip. “Don’t get her in the middle of this.” Todd glared at the commissioner, knowing he was right. The last thing he wanted was for Delgado to get in Sykes’ face in a misguided attempt to protect him. There was no telling what that psycho would do if she pushed him too far. “But you, Manning...” Bo looked up at Doyle. “I’m going to make a list, and no one who isn’t on it is to be allowed into this cellblock under any circumstances. Do you understand me, Doyle?” The guard nodded his head.

Later, after Todd was settled on the bunk and Doyle was helping him clean up, Bo stepped outside the cell, rubbing his eyes. There would be hell to pay for this, he knew. After what he had witnessed through the gate that day, there was no doubt in his mind that sooner or later either Sykes or Manning would end up dead at the hands of the other man.

TO BE CONTINUED

This page hosted by Get your own FREE Home Page